


Thanks, Rey

by TrashPile11



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A wild plot has appeared, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Baristas, Ben Solo's dimples will be Rey's next mailing address, Blushing, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Soft Ben Solo, Soft Rey (Star Wars), This fic is 70 percent dialogue and I am THRIVING, no plot just vibes, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29302323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashPile11/pseuds/TrashPile11
Summary: “You really are my favorite barista, you know.”“I bet you say that to all the baristas.”“Just you,” he said seriously.Just a fluffy plotless coffeeshop AU of Barista!Rey and Regular Customer!Ben getting closer
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 52
Kudos: 108





	Thanks, Rey

**Author's Note:**

  * For [biscooti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscooti/gifts).



> For my dearest Tasha, a fluffy fic that's as warm and lovely as you are 💜

Takodana Cafe had been open for all of two minutes, and Rey had just finished calibrating the espresso set-up to pull perfect shots. As she sipped the fruits of her labor, the door swung open and in walked a man.

A thesaurus entry for the word _big_ flipped through Rey’s mind. _Enormous. Gargantuan. Monumental._ Oh, _monumental_ was nice. She could absolutely see a monument being erected to his perfectly sculpted biceps and bulging traps. Could picture a sculptor painstakingly carving his elegantly mussed hair and aquiline nose. Would the artist capture the moles scattered across his face? Or the tired look in his eyes?

Right, tired. Coffee. That’s why he was there.

“Good morning!” she chirped with her brightest customer service smile. “What can I get started for you?”

“Can I get a medium coffee with a shot of espresso?” he croaked, voice deep in the way that told her he hadn’t spoken yet that day.

“Medium red eye, coming right up!”

And the waltz began.

Rey had worked in the cafe for about two years, and with that experience came a spatial familiarity that transformed drink-making into a dance. Her limbs worked together in a timed practice to flow through every step of getting and filling a cup, his eyes hot on her as they tracked her performance. The curtsy came when she placed a lid on, snapping it into place with a roll of her wrist.

His card was already out by the time she gave him a total.

The cup looked small in his hands, the pint of caffeine suddenly looking quite pint-sized. He took a sip, and the blissful expression that overtook his face had Rey brimming with pride. Another satisfied customer.

“Thanks. I signed up for a Monday 8AM, and I’m no morning person. You’d think I would’ve learned that in undergrad,” he tossed her a crooked grin, “but apparently I thought law school would be different.”

“I hear it _is_ different,” she offered with a nod and laid-on enthusiasm. “You’ll hate it even more!”

He laughed, an incongruously high pitched sound he seemed to be trying to stifle, and she found her own chest shaking a bit as she joined him.

“I’m sure I’ll be here a lot, then. Thanks.”

After he’d left the small space, she looked at his closed-out transaction report on the register. He was hot, and he was friendly, and – _look at that_ – he was a good tipper.

Rey liked this new customer.

The Monument came in again the next day, looking just as tired during the 8:15 morning rush as he had had at 7:02. She couldn’t spare time to ask how his 8AM went, but she could spare him a smile as she passed off his drink. He paid and thanked her and went on with his day, and Rey poured a perfect rosetta into the next latte.

He made an appearance every day that week, in fact. He ordered his red eye during the morning rush, card ready to pay so he could skirt out of the crowded space. He thanked her every time, and he tipped every time, and, every time, Rey wished she could hear that laugh she’d heard on Monday.

“I’m Rey,” she told The Monument, setting his drink on the counter between them.

It was 7:05 on Monday morning, and while he looked just as tired as every other morning she’d seen him, his smile looked more genuine.

“I know. You sometimes talk to yourself when you’re working.”

“Oh, um, byproduct of growing up pretty alone, I guess,” she forced a laugh.

The silence that followed was tense and awkward, and Rey cursed herself for over-sharing like that. He was there for caffeine, not some poor foster kid’s sob story.

“I’m Ben,” he offered with a soft smile and a hand reached out across the counter.

Shaking hands meant washing right after, and Rey’s dry skin begged her not to do it. But his face was so earnest, and then his palm was so warm against hers as he squeezed her hand in the most chaste form of an embrace.

“It's nice to make your acquaintance, Ben,” she told him with a grin, dragging her eyes up to his and away from how his hand absolutely dwarfed hers.

“I’m just glad I can thank my favorite barista by name, now.”

His toothy grin had her heart fluttering in her chest, his dimples deep enough to crawl into and make a home. She was pretty sure it was already her favorite smile in the world.

“So, what’s the damage?” he released her hand to dig for his wallet.

Her hand felt cold now that his wasn’t there to warm it. She braced it on the counter.

“This one’s on me.”

“Thanks, Rey.”

And the look in his eyes before he left warmed her heart the way he had her hand.

“What’s with the map?” he asked with a yawn.

“Sorry?” Rey called over the whir of the grinder churning beans.

“The map. On the wall?” Ben inclined his head, gesturing at the topic at hand.

The wall in question had a world map painted on it in soft greens and pinks like the pull-down maps she could remember from grade school. On each country was glued a coin, sometimes several.

The grinder hummed softly behind her as it spat out the last of the grounds.

“Oh! We kept getting all these foreign coins in the register, and it’s not like we can go exchange random coins, so I decided we needed a place to put them. Medium red eye?”

“Yes please.”

Rey began her dance, grabbing a cup to fill it almost full with coffee. The espresso grinder was next, screaming its frustration at being put to work before she could push the button to start the espresso machine.

“So, you needed a place to put them...”

“Yeah,” she poked her head out beside the machine to look at his questioning face. “So I painted a map on the wall. Now the coins go to their own countries.”

The shop was silent as she grabbed his very full cup and snapped a lid on.

“I tossed another shot in there for you,” she told her shoes. Scuffed old black converse that probably didn’t give her enough arch support for the long hours on her feet.

She glanced up, and the dazzling smile and adorable dimples were more than enough payment for the extra ounce of liquid energy.

“Thanks, Rey!”

“Sure.”

She punched his order into the register, minus the shot on the house, and let him follow the routine of paying. It wasn’t until he’d left that she realized he’d left a $5 tip.

It was a week before Ben was the first person in the door of the shop again. Seven days until they were alone with only the coffee and the machines and their own blushing faces

Ben seemed to be in a pensive mood that day. When she asked if he wanted his usual, he simply nodded once before staring at the wall of coins.

It was a bit odd. He’d never been so quiet before, especially not on Monday mornings when they were alone. But she couldn’t help to be grateful for the opportunity to really take in the mass of him as she made his drink.

His calves and thighs were sculpted and defined beneath black joggers. His broad shoulders filled out his hoodie. Glossy raven waves swept so artfully around his neck that she’d swear he spent 20 minutes in front of a mirror with a curling wand.

She couldn’t see much of his face from her angle behind the espresso machine, but as she walked to the register to ring him up, she caught him gnawing slightly at his plush lower lip.

Rey told him the price, the same price it always was, but he seemed too lost in thought to notice.

“Ben?”

“Hmm?” he started, eyes widening the slightest bit when he realized she was talking to him. Or rather, talking _at_ him.

A sympathetic smile played at her mouth as she repeated the price, asking him if he was okay.

“Yeah, just… have a lot on my mind is all.”

A line of worry creased between his brows, and she found herself compelled to smooth it.

“Well, you know where to come if you need a pick-me-up!” she tried cheerfully.

That soft smile she was becoming so familiar with graced his face for her.

“Thanks, Rey.”

Rey’d had a lot of regulars in her years as a barista, but none quite as predictable as Ben. That predictability was why she felt so comfortable having his shot pulling into his cup as he walked through the door at 7:03. By the time he reached the counter, she was presenting it with a flourish.

“What’s that?”

“That’s your drink!”

“How do you know I didn’t want to try something new?” he asked, face impossibly stoic.

“Did you want to try something new today, Ben?” she teased with a smirk.

“No.”

His smile was radiant, and so was hers. He picked up his cup and took the first sip. Humming in appreciation, he fished out his wallet to retrieve his card.

“You really are my favorite barista, you know.”

“I bet you say that to all the baristas.”

“Just you,” he said seriously.

Her blush felt private, a response to his praise that should have been just for her. But his watchful eyes didn’t miss. She didn’t feel judged, though. Just seen.

“Oh. Th-thank you. You’re one of my favorite customers. I love Monday mornings now.”

It was his turn to flush, clearly not expecting any sentiments to be returned. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, eyes darting around the empty shop.

“So, is it cool if I set up and read in here before class?” he asked, hesitant.

“Of course! Should be pretty quiet for the next twenty. I’ll try and keep my grinding to a minimum so you can get some work done.”

He set his bag down on the nearest table, pulling out a book.

“Oh, that’s not—”

“It’s fine; I have orders to place anyway. Enjoy your...” she turned her head to read the cover of his text, “Civil Procedure. Now that I say that out loud, it doesn’t sound very enjoyable.”

“Thanks, Rey,” he chuckled, grinning at her and rolling his eyes dramatically as he slid into the chair.

“This relationship is unbalanced,” Ben told her as he burst through the door.

His drink was waiting on the counter for him, the register just waiting for his card.

Rey cracked a grin.

“What?”

“You know I’m in law school. You know my coffee order. You know my coffee _schedule_. And I don’t know _anything_ about you!”

“You know where I work.”

He paused his end of the transaction, considering what she’d said as he considered her tip. She didn’t much care about that, and it shocked her.

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he laughed.

“I drink a double espresso most days. Sometimes I’ll make myself something more indulgent, especially if I’m testing recipes. I love our dirty chai.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a chai latte with espresso in it.”

She could feel herself salivating as she described it. That perfect blend of smooth and spicy, bitter and sweet.

“That sounds terrible.”

“Well, that’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“I have to make you try it. To prove you wrong.”

“Rey, you really don’t need to do that. I’m happy with my red eye.”

She turned to gather her ingredients, ignoring his protests.

“Is regular milk okay, or do you prefer an alternative?”

“Regular is fine,” he sighed, setting up at the nearest table again.

When the drink was ready, complete with a perfect tulip poured in the foam, she grabbed a second mug and went out to his table to let him see.

“That’s really pretty!”

“Oh, thanks. I taught myself from YouTube videos!” she told him as she poured a few ounces into the other mug and presented it to him.

He looked at her with distrust as he took the mug, fingers brushing hers and sending an electric jolt through her veins. She told herself the warmth she felt was from the joy of introducing people to new things.

Eyes trained on hers, he sniffed the drink, swirling the liquid around. Big, dramatic inhales. A caricature of a sommelier. Finally, he brought the mug to his lips and sipped.

If she could bottle the way his eyes widened with joy, she would. Label it _Shocked Delight_ and market it to _the person who has everything._

“That’s incredible.”

“I know,” she said with the surety of someone who did, in fact, know.

She poured half the remaining chai into his mug and handed it back.

“Seriously, thanks, Rey.”

“You’re very welcome, Ben,” she told him before sipping from her own mug. She sighed, the first sip always living up to expectations, and walked back behind the counter to place a milk order.

“Dirty chai or red eye? Or maybe something new?”

It was getting cold out, and his nose was almost as red as his lips. He wore a black beanie, or she was sure his ears would be similarly flushed.

“Hmm,” he considered, stroking his chin dramatically. “It’s midterms. Let’s indulge. Gimme the chai.”

“You got it.”

He stared at the map again as she worked.

“Currency is weird,” he blurted.

She snorted as she stirred.

“Where did that come from?”

“You have this wall covered in coins that you can’t use here because our little disks of metal are stamped differently. And the metal disks have value because we _say they do._ ”

“Well, what would you propose the alternative is? An altruistic system where everyone just gives things to each other?”

She set his cup before him and rung up the drink. The total was, unsurprisingly, about twice his normal red eye.

“I’m sure you’d prefer that today,” she winked.

He laughed, slipping his card into the reader.

“We could go back to a trade-and-barter system. Or we could back our currency with chickens. They’re much more useful than gold and silver.”

“A chicken-backed system of currency is something I’d love to see.”

He sipped his drink, moaning softly around the lip of the cup as he did. The flush on her skin was from the excitement of their absurd conversation.

“This is worth at least a chicken,” he declared.

“Alright, Ben, you can pay for your drink with a chicken.”

Their eyes locked, lips twitching. And suddenly they were both laughing, tears springing to their eyes as their stomachs began to cramp and their lungs screamed for air.

When they finally calmed down, Rey offered a napkin to Ben to dab his eyes as she did the same to her own.

“I haven’t laughed that hard in _ages._ ”

“Me, neither. Thanks, Rey.”

“Are you doing anything for the holiday? Got any travel plans?”

“I do Friendsgiving with my friend Finn. Other than that, just work. I do have an art show coming up, so I need to finish up some pieces. What about you?”

“I leave tomorrow. Mom’s making the bird; dad’s buying the pie. I told them I’d bring home a pound of beans from my favorite coffee shop,” Ben handed her a package labeled _House Blend._ “Will you grind it for drip?”

Rey noded, tearing open the bag and dumping the beans into the grinder. She flicked it on, the loud sound filling the air.

“You said you have an art show coming up?” he yelled.

“Yeah, over at this other little coffee shop on Crait Street. I have a few paintings ready, but they have enough space for more, so I’ve been pounding out as many as I can before they go up on the first.”

He swallowed thickly as she spoke. She told herself it was because he really needed the caffeine that day.

“That’s awesome! How long will they be up?”

The grinder whirred softly behind her, the last of the beans pulverized. She turned to stop it, clearing the chute of stray grounds before closing his bag and handing it off.

“Three weeks. We’ll do an opening night thing on the first, and then a closing night thing on the twenty-first. I’m kind of nervous, actually,” she chuckled.

“Why are you nervous?”

“This is my first showing. I’ve been painting since I was a kid, but I’m completely self-taught. I’ve never really known how to break into the scene.”

“Well, I’m excited for you,” he declared with finality, as if his excitement was what mattered.

It did.

“Thanks, Ben.”

“Of course! Now what do I owe you?”

She punched in his order, and he paid without fanfare, leaving his customary tip. Before he could leave, though, she spoke again.

“This relationship is unbalanced.”

“What?” he quoted, grinning at her.

“Well, you know where I work. You know my drink. Now you know I paint. But I don’t know any of _your_ hobbies!”

“I, uh, I’m really into history,” he told her, face flushing red as his free hand came up to rub at the back of his neck. “I actually have a podcast with my friend Rose. About the history of engineering.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You’re in law school, and you somehow have time to make a podcast on a completely different topic?”

“Well, I don’t sleep much. Explains why I’m here so often. Not that the company is a bad reason.”

It was her turn to flush, hiding her bashful grin behind a sip of her own drink.

“Well, I love podcasts! What’s it called? I’ll subscribe right now.”

“(Mech)istory. Thanks, Rey.”

“Welcome back.”

“What’s in that cup?”

“Something new. I think you’ll like it.”

He snapped the lid off the cup, admiring the intricate swan poured into the foam.

“You were just going to let me taste this without seeing the art?”

She blushed. It seemed a blush was becoming a permanent fixture on her face when he was around.

“The head came out a little lopsided, and the body is too small.”

“It’s beautiful,” he argued, bending down to sniff at the concoction.

_Beautiful_ was a word to describe _something_ in the store, for sure. The way his hair fell forward, curtaining his face. The way his hand raked through the waves as he adjusted his posture to sip cautiously at the edge.

And there it was again, in his eyes. _Shocked Delight_.

“That’s amazing. It tastes like Cinnamon Toast Crunch!”

She beamed.

“Good, because that’s what I was going for. Thanks for being my guinea pig.”

He stood up and snapped the lid back onto his cup before bringing it to his lips for another long drag. When he pulled the cup away, she noticed a small dribble had landed on his coat.

“Here,” she said, handing him a napkin. “You got some on you.”

The face he made, looking down to see his own chest, made her heart constrict in its cage as her cheeks ached from the force of her grin.

“Cup,” she demanded, reaching her hand back out. The way his fingers brushed against hers was as electric as the first time. And the last.

“The lip,” she gestured at the opening, “has to face away from the seam,” she pointed below it, to the line of overlap in paper of the cup. She removed the lid, adjusted it to face the opposite direction, and replaced it.

“Good as new.”

He took his cup back, drawing another sip and humming appreciatively.

“Thanks, Rey.”

“Dirty chai. Extra shot please,” he answered her unspoken question. “How was the opening?”

“You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered. Is it at The Cantina or Crystal Moon?”

“Did you look up cafes on Crait Street?”

“Yep. I want to go see my favorite barista’s other _skills_ in action.”

She told herself her flush was from the compliment.

“If you weren’t my favorite customer… Cantina,” she grunted as she prepped his extra shot.

She told herself his flush was, too.

“Cool. I’m gonna check it out this weekend between study sessions. Is their coffee as good as yours?”

“I’ll let you be the judge of that.”

She handed him the cup of his personal liquid gold, and he took the first sip.

“Mmm, no, I don’t think anyone is topping this. But I’m sure the service is better.”

“Hey!”

He winked at her, and something deep within her awoke. She admitted her blush wasn’t from the compliment. She admitted his probably wasn’t either. She admitted she looked forward to 7:02 on Monday mornings, and 8:15 every other day, the way nature anticipates spring, bringing warmth and light and life.

“Oh! I have something for you!” he exclaimed, swinging his bag to the front to unzip it.

It took her mind a second to catch up when he drew out a plush little chicken and thrust it into her hands. Then suddenly she was laughing, heartfelt and deep, keeled over the counter as her lungs ached.

When she could finally draw air, she did so in great gulps, dabbing at her eyes with a napkin.

His grin was wide and toothy and perfectly Ben.

“That’s your drink, paid in full. Good luck with finals, Ben.”

“Thanks, Rey!”

Ben didn’t come in the next Monday. It was the first Monday he’d missed all semester, the first weekday he’d been unexpectedly missing. Rey missed him, realizing the tenuous nature of their friendship. Could she even call it a friendship? She didn’t know his last name, couldn’t get in touch with him to make sure he was okay.

But her orders got placed and her day went on and Rey figured she’d see him the next day.

Then Tuesday came and went, and Wednesday along with it. By Thursday she was downright worried. So when she caught sight of the top of his head from the back of the line, the flood of relief was a rainstorm on chalk, washing away the fears.

His smile was apologetic, but the rush was not, so she made his drink and sent him on his way and resolved to talk to him on Monday.

“Where _were_ you all week? I missed you!”

“I’m so sorry! The law library had free coffee. Red eye, please.”

She turned to fill his cup with coffee.

“You missed me?”

Her spine stiffened, shoulders tensing. She could feel her pulse in her toes, could hear it thundering in her ears.

“Yeah. I really like you,” she told his distorted reflection in the stainless brewer.

She could feel the width of his grin behind her, could hear it in his words as he admitted, “I really like you, too.”

“So, what, you couldn’t call? Couldn’t drop a carrier pigeon?”

“The pigeon post fell out of favor in the late 19th century. And I’d need your number to call.”

“Are you asking for my number, Ben?” she teased as she prepared his last Monday shots of the semester.

His face flushed red to match his sweater.

“I— I wasn’t—”

“If I’d known it was free coffee that was keeping you away,” she cut in, saving him from his stammering, “I’d have bought your coffees for the week.”

She took a deep breath, steeling herself.

“I’d like to give you my number. If you want it. To let me know when you won’t be here. Or anything else you might want to use it for.”

And there was his grin again with his dimples and his bright eyes, not behind her back, but real and in front of her where she could admire the joy there. All for her.

“And if I want to use it to ask you out?”

“I guess we’ll have to find out,” she winked.

_Hey Rey?_

**Yeah Ben?**

_Can I take you to your gallery closing?_

**I’d like that**

_Thanks, Rey_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Cinnamon Toast Crunch Latte is 1/2 cinnamon syrup, 1/2 vanilla syrup, made with oat milk YOU'RE WELCOME!
> 
> * * *

**Author's Note:**

> As always, [Tricia](https://twitter.com/ebongawk), is the only beta ever, as far as I’m concerned. If you're not following her on Twitter and [Ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeshiftcandy/pseuds/makeshiftcandy) you should probably fix that.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thanks for reading this TrashPile Production.
> 
> Check out [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/TrashPile11) for some roaring (usually NSFW) good times.


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